Another in an occasional series on things that never fail to crack me up, for reasons I can never fully explain
Big-budget comedies and sprawling TV sketches get all the glory. But sometimes, the funniest moments come in tiny packages.
There’s something uniquely satisfying about being caught off guard, and then metaphorically, if not literally, ROTFL.
The bite-size clip that I’m remembering today isn’t a long-form sketch or classic movie scene.
It’s a very brief moment from a behind-the-scenes documentary called Too Funny to Fail, which chronicles the noble and doomed glory that was The Dana Carvey Show.
There’s a point in the film where the documentarian unearths an old promotional spot that aired on ABC.
As referenced by the promo’s announcer, there’s a throwaway pitch for the new sketch show that Carvey and his merry pranksters had recently launched.
Preceded by?
A Very Special Episode™ of Home Improvement.
And because I know all of the important C-suite people at the ABC archives have figured out to how to search for stuff on YouTube, you can see it, too.
But first, some backstory:
The Brief, Glorious Madness of The Dana Carvey Show
To fully appreciate the absurdity, a little history lesson is in order.
In the spring of 1996, ABC, fresh off its recent acquisition by Disney, gave Saturday Night Live standout Dana Carvey his own 30-minute, prime time sketch comedy show.
This was an important gig: an opportunity for Carvey to become more than just a “late night” performer.
It was a perfect chance to break through and become part of the comedy mainstream.
But instead of playing it safe, Carvey did the exact opposite, assembling a murderer’s row of weirdly subversive comedy minds:
Robert Smigel, Heather Morgan, Charlie Kaufman (yes, Eternal Sunshine Kaufman), Louis CK, Bob Odenkirk, Robert Carlock, Greg Daniels, and Dino Stamatopoulos.
And: two young unknowns named Steve Carell and Steven Colbert.
It was a writer’s room filled with future legends. And following Carvey’s lead, they went absolutely feral.
The premiere episode featured Carvey as President Bill Clinton, illustrating his innate kindness and accessibility:
By addressing the nation while breastfeeding a room full of puppies.
And that was just the cold-open. Other Not Safe For Family Viewing sketches in included:
- Skinheads From Maine
- The original incarnation of The Ambiguously Gay Duo
- Waiters Nauseated By Food
- Discovery Channel After Dark
- Late Night With (A Decapitated) Conan O’Brien
This outlandishness was being broadcast on 90’s network television. On a weeknight. Following Home Improvement at 9 PM.
On the ABC, the home of Family Matters and America’s Funniest Home Videos.
The mainstream media savaged the show. And Middle America didn’t just clutch their pearls. They flung them across the room.
ABC panicked.
Sponsors bolted.
Viewership tanked.
And it was mostly downhill from there. The Dana Carvey Show was canceled after just seven episodes. But in the years since, it has become a comedy cult favorite; the kind of show that proves giving creative freedom to geniuses is a gamble.
And, that network TV is very bad at gambling.
Too Funny to Fail, But Too Funny to Forget
21 years later, enter: Too Funny to Fail, the Hulu documentary chronicling the show’s brief, beautiful flameout.
It’s part comedy history, part group therapy session. The documentary manages to be both hilarious and weirdly emotional, as everyone involved reflects on the experience with a mix of pride, disbelief, and a little PTSD.
The film was conceived and directed by award-winning filmmaker Josh Greenbaum: A slightly… OK, maybe an overly obsessed fan of this blip of network programming.
He couldn’t believe something this packed with talent had crashed and burned so quickly.
For Greenbaum, The Dana Carvey Show was less a failure than a fascinating fluke, a lightning-in-a-bottle moment that deserved a second look.
“These are guys I’ve looked up to for a long time,” he said.
“There’s that expression, ‘Never meet your heroes…,’ and I’ve had kind of the opposite experience meeting these guys.”
His love for the material comes through in every frame. Greenbaum wasn’t just documenting an obscure TV program, he was trying to solve a mystery with an essential question: How could something this original disappear so fast?
The crown jewel of the doc is an accidental comedy gem: A 1996 ABC cross-promotional interstitial from hell.
It’s like concluding a sad story with a clown horn. Middle America must’ve had a collective “Whaaaat?” moment when Home Improvement teased their tackling of a family in crisis, and, 15 seconds later: the network was shilling for Carvey and his merrily unhinged pranksters.
Greenbaum had correctly assumed that all of the writers and performers had no prior knowledge of the obscure promo, and he let the camera roll as the glorious incongruity was revealed.
Watching extremely talented people get completely blindsided and lose their composure is somehow satisfying.
Carell and Colbert are among the most controlled performers of their generation:
Colbert kept a straight face through years of The Colbert Report.
And Carell somehow made The Office‘s most awkward scenes work.
But in this moment, they are absolutely destroyed. It’s comedy kryptonite.
When the promo is played for the unsuspecting writers and performers in the documentary, it’s not just funny, it’s somehow healing. It validates. A moment when the jesters get to laugh as they recall just how far they had strayed from the norm. That’s comic closure wrapped in absurdity.
The doc doesn’t just show us the clip, it gives us the reactions.
Watching the pros crack up? You can’t fake that kind of spontaneous joy.
So: What’s So Funny About It?
Now, finally, back to my original question: why does this make me laugh so hard? I think I’ve figured out why.
It’s the misplaced tone. And I’m always a sucker for it.
If you’ve ever laughed during a eulogy or suppressed a fit of the giggles because someone said “colon” instead of “cologne,” well, you’re tapping into the same humane relief. It’s a release valve for tension. Someone else breaks decorum? Boom; permission granted. You can lean into the absurdity and breathe. Welcome to the support group of inappropriate guffaws.
Or put in more simple terms:
I think I just love watching people laugh. It’s one of the most honest things we do.
You can fake a lot in this world: confidence, interest, even love.
But no one fakes an uncontrollable snort-laugh. And in this clip, they all mean it.
Every single wheeze and facepalm is 100% authentic.
In Conclusion: May All Our Failures Be This Funny
The Dana Carvey Show was ahead of its time, out of sync with its network, and apparently assembled by comedic demons.
But amidst the wreckage, we got this moment. This 20-second microdose of joy.
As we all know, comedy is subjective. But this kills me. See if you agree:
It makes me laugh. And I’ll keep watching it. Again and again. Until I have a thyroid health scare, like little Randy did.
Sorry. Too soon?
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Oh my goodness! I never watched the Carvey show — I’ll admit the comedy is not my sort — but I loathed “Home Improvement.” So that promo is gold. Thanks for sharing it.
I get mixed up between Dana Carvey and Drew Carey. I’m still picturing Carey’s face even as I know its the other guy.
My excuse is that they’re both far from household names here. I’ve never seen The Dana Carvey Show but the regard its held in as a cult hit is evidenced by the fact I’ve heard it referenced plenty by those of discerning tastes that it had an outsize impact on those that saw it.
Despite never seeing the show, I watched that clip and the juxtaposition of tear jerking sentimentality against the newcomer had the same effect as the performers. Disbelief creating a real belly laugh.
Holy cow. How in the world did the beheading get pass the censor? It’s right up there with Tea Leoni eating an egg roll on Flying Blind.
I remember the “very special episode” concept. I remember very special episode of The Facts of Life when Natalie didn’t make it back home to her Eastland dorm and told Mrs. Garrett about it.
Home Improvement is from the early-nineties. I thought the dramedy killed the very special episode stunt. Instead of an abrupt tonal shift, you simply blended drama and comedy, like on the pioneering Hooperman, starring John Ritter.
Great build-up to the clip. No way was I not going to watch it.
That’s priceless. I was cry-laughing along with Steven Colbert. The inappropriateness is breathtaking.
The “Skinheads From Maine” bit gets me every time, too. Carvey and Colbert nail the accents. I used to know people with who spoke that way, and the “Ayuh” is classic Maine. Someone on the staff spent some time in the Pine Tree State and knew how to write it. Fantastic stuff.